2012.

The champagne has been uncorked, the ball has dropped. 2012. Another year over, a new one just begun.

It's been just under two years since I last posted anything on my blog, but over the past few days a couple of people have mentioned that I should get back into writing. A two year writer's block is quite a feat to overcome, so you'll have to bear with the poor grammar, incomplete sentences and lack of focus.

2011 has come to an end. Reading through my last New Year's post at the beginning of 2010, all I can think about the fact I thought 2010 would be a year of change is this: You haven't seen nothing yet, Matt. 2011 was indeed a year of change.

2010 brought ten new fingers and toes. 2011 brought another set. 2010 brought a new job working for the Mennonite Central Committee in their Vancouver thrift store. 2011 brought a transfer from British Columbia to Ontario, plus increased responsibilities at the thrift store I now manage. As a result of these two major changes, we're now living in a new place, with a new job, and two children. It was definitely a challenging year, and so in some ways I look forward to 2012: a year of routine.

It's kind of sad thinking that this will be a year of routine. Much of my blogging and life over the years before the need for a steady income have been anything but routine. In some ways, I miss that. But in more ways, I don't. Perhaps it's a pro / con thing, where the joys and challenges of marriages and parenting outweigh the joys and challenges of the non-routine existence. To be honest, I don't think I could have handled much more of the non-routine existence. And as much as I have written about my lack of passion, perhaps I have just naturally gravitated towards those things that I do desire, and having a family of my own is one of them. So is having a steady income, though at times the former necessitates the latter.

That's not to say that I wouldn't still love to go on an impromptu road trip across the country, or a sudden train trip up north. But those things will come. Over the summer we drove from Nova Scotia back to Ontario with two kids and, well, the whole adventure of a roadtrip is pretty well over when you have to stop every hour to deal with something going on in the back seat. Sigh.

Did I, five years ago, think I would be living back in Ontario working in a thrift store and looking forward to routine in five years time? Definitely not. Is this the best place for me? Definitely so.

joy.

The moment came, and the moment passed. It was a moment filled with pain, anxiety, expectation, relief. And when the moment ended, all that remained was joy -- a moment filled with immense joy. Caleb Allan Mitchell Kok came into this world in the middle of a Monday afternoon with a strong, healthy cry of freedom. Music to our ears.

It is difficult to imagine, before the birth of your child, what life will be like when he's born. All of the planning, purchasing, and parenting tips can only prepare you to an extent, beyond which, everything--everything is new. You can't simply research, compare prices, and then put an order in. It's not like buying a new computer. There is no manual to bring home, no extended warranty, no 24/7 customer service support line. It's you, and a newborn. And to this point in my life, I can imagine no greater joy. There is nothing like lying back, with your child sleeping on your chest, his little body rising and falling with each breath.

Immense joy.

Heart-filling joy.

We know that we are blessed to have a healthy, whole, and (occasionally) happy child. Truly blessed.

the anticipation of things to come

Crib? Check.
Diapers? Check.
Stroller? Check.
Car Seat? Check.
Clothes? Check.
Baby? ...
Baby? ...

No baby yet. While Vancouverites have been counting down the days until Friday, Susan and I have been counting down towards a different sort of event. Five days away from the "official" due date, and all we have to show for it is one enlarged belly and a house full of baby supplies. What began nine months ago as a tiny seed (I'll spare you the details) has now grown full term. Some nights, when I'm lucky and baby co-operates, I can actually watch baby move around in his/her little home, though we have yet to try the Maltesers experiment.

I've been given a lot of advice from fathers lately. 90% of the advice has to do with sleep. "Get your sleep now!" is the running motto of many experienced dads. Meanwhile the other 10% generally ask the question, "Are you ready?" And my answer has consistently been, "We're as ready as we can be." Sure, materially we're ready. All the necessities have been bought. Our spare room is furnished, stocked, and baby-fied. Mentally, I guess we're ready. Prenatal classes are over. I now know the various positions to support my wife through the labour process (and am consequently extremely thankful that I have an external, painless role in the process). But seriously, how can one really be ready for this?

I figure we've got at least 18 years of raising this child before letting her/him explore life free of full-time parental guidance. That's a lot of training, encouraging, paying, challenging, supporting, caring, paying, loving, paying, blessing, and yes, paying. And looking at our culture today, I fear for the world our child will grow up in. We will raise our child knowing God because, honestly, we can see no better way to live life. It has not always been an easy way of life for us (and we are aware it will never be an easy way of life), but it has undoubtedly and always been the most challenging and rewarding. I guess that's one of the joys of being parents, to walk with a child through the challenges and rewards of life, and to experience faith through their eyes.

so this is the new year.

2009 has come to an end--the year of waiting. Aside from the slow growth of Susan's baby bump, not much is new, not much is different. We began 2009 in the same jobs we ended 2009. We began the year at the same church we ended the year. And we're still living in the same basement suite. I am one year older, one anniversary wiser in marriage, I've had seven or eight more haircuts, two or three pairs of jeans replaced along with two shoes, countless numbers of fill-ups in the Civic, and thousands of kilometres added to the odometer. Not only was it a year of waiting, it really was a year of inactivity in the grand scheme of things. Sure, we were kept busy at work, at volunteering, with places to go and people to see. In that sense, this past year has flown by. Another year has past already. But in hindsight, the year of waiting was just that. A year of waiting.

Waiting for what?

Sus and I talked a bit last night about the upcoming year, 2010, and what it will bring. Change. Twenty-ten will be a year of change. There are some expected changes to come, such as the addition of ten fingers, ten toes and--heck--a whole new body to feed, clothe, sustain and love in our home. With this addition comes the expected change to our lifestyle: a one-income family we will be. But we are also anticipating change there, too. With a job that is slowly driving me to insanity and a requisite internship coming up, we are expecting (hoping, praying) there to be a significant career change--or at least, direction. We talk about this often, Sus and I. At times out of excitement and anticipation, at other times out of frustration and worry.

It's a tough thing to trust when plans don't go as planned. I realize that is an odd sentence, but it's true--sometimes plans just don't go as expected, and what remains in the settled dust is trust. And that's where the excitement and anticipation comes in. We trust in someone bigger than ourselves, and we have to trust in God's unpredictability. It is the most frustrating and most reassuring place to be. And we, in our family of two-going-on-three, have experienced both frustration and assurance over this period of waiting, usually at different times. It's one of the awesome experiences of marriage, to support and be supported when needed. And with the expected changes to come this year, mutual support will be in high demand.

Welcome, 2010!

seeds [part three]

After a summer-long hiatus from West Coast precipitation, it was really only a matter of time before the skies clouded over and the rains began. Summer rains are not so bad, though. There is still warmth in the air, and with the lack of any sort of moisture for months, the grass is in desperate need. So is our garden. While we've been enjoying the vegetables of our labour, we admittedly haven't been paying much attention to its nourishment and replenishment. For good reason, though; in lieu of catering to the growth of our garden, Susan has been busy looking after the growth of a different sort of seed.

It's clear that I am amazed by the growth of our plants from tiny seeds to their present state of, what seems like, taking over the garden. Thousands of leaves, plenty of blossoms and countless root systems developed, all from what once were seeds. And there will probably be a hundred tomatoes grown, another hundred blueberries, hundreds of peas, a couple dozen carrots, and plenty of squash by the time our summer winds down. It's still a mystery to me. Yet, even more mysterious is the growth that began a mere 13 weeks ago. From a seed infinitely smaller than a pea pod, a child has begun to form. While we have the awesome responsibility of ensuring that the right foods are eaten, the appropriate medication is taken, and as little possible stress is experienced in order to provide the best environment for our child, we ultimately know that his (her?) formation is out of our hands. Like the rain falling on our garden outside my window, it is only God's provision that will allow our child to shape and develop.

And by all accounts, all is well. We watched our baby in action earlier this week, moving around and getting comfortable inside his temporary home. (For the sake of this and future posts, our baby is a "he" until we see otherwise). Though he is only three inches in length, most of his parts are there. Already. He has fingerprints. He has nerves. Reflexes. We watched his heart pounding inside his tiny frame. A mystery, and a miracle, at its finest. Perhaps the only greater mystery is how it can be denied that what exists inside Susan's body is a living child.

Three months down. Six to go.

on direction

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

--some sage advice from our pastor the other day.

When my internal ponderings unhinge themselves from thoughts of work, marriage, home, etc, I consider, once again, my role as an employee, husband, man, Christian, [soon-to-be-father]. The thoughts come not in a narcissistic, egotistical manner, but in a more rounded set of introspections as one who finds himself in a vast, fallen, sometimes harsh and always complex world. In truth, the questions always (must?) come back to me and what my role within this framework is to be. Am I holding up my end of the bargain? Am I just doing and not being? Is waiting a good thing?

A series of questions crossed my train of thought the other day via a sermon:

What path am I on?
Where does it lead to?
Is that where I want it to end up?

All the best intentions will never lead to desired destination. I can intend to drive from A to B, but without direction, I'll likely end up at Z. To some, direction comes easy. For me, not so much...but that is changing. On top of these questions have come a number of challenges:

A challenge to be wise.
A challenge to be a man.
A challenge to be Godly.

I'm learning that without wisdom, I have no direction. And I am no longer just leading myself. My "i's" have become "we's." The easy thing to do is just let things be and see how they work out. But I know that's not what is expected of me, as a husband, as a Christian, as a man. So what's left? To pick up the pieces. To pick up the pieces of the past, examine them, rediscover them for the misdirection they have offered, to put them back down. And then to walk on. Lack of direction has left me with nothing but dreams and intentions. These, too, I must re-examine for their worth and potential, and then do with them what is best--what is manly, wise, and Godly.

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing?

By now we've all heard the story, we've all seen the video, and if we're the sort of person, we've cried the tears. But, as Dennis Palumbo asks in The Huffington Post, What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing? What a great question.

Palumbo writes, "the unspoken message of this whole episode is that, since Susan Boyle has a wonderful talent, we were wrong to judge her based on her looks and demeanor. Meaning what? That if she couldn't sing so well, we were correct to judge her on that basis? That demeaning someone whose looks don't match our impossible, media-reinforced standards of beauty is perfectly okay, unless some mitigating circumstance makes us re-think our opinion?"

I don't know what my natural reaction would be to the video, had I not watched it already knowing the outcome. But I can guess that Palumbo is right--that had she not been able to sing so well, I would have felt justified to judge Boyle based solely on her looks. Sad, n'est pas? How is it that I--that we--have gotten to a point where looks are all that matter? And I say 'we' because, from the amount of hits her video has received on youtube, it seems that all of us with an internet connection or any access to the media reacted the same way to watching Susan Boyle walk on stage as Simon Cowell and the rest of the audience did. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is the absolute basic lesson we can all learn from this episode. The cliché doesn't give any justice to the fact that we all, on a daily basis, are quick to judge. And worse yet, we are all capable of justifying it. Truth be told, however, it's easier to judge than to blindly accept.

So what more could we learn from her if the beauty of her voice hadn't blinded our vision? Jean Vanier, in his book, Becoming Human, offers an answer. He suggests that fear is the basis of our prejudice and exclusion. "When we have constructed our lives around particular values of knowledge, power, and social esteem," he writes, "it is difficult for us to accept those who cannot live by the same set of values. It is as if we are threatened by such people." We are threatened by those who don't live up to our "media-reinforced standards of beauty" because it is easier to look down on them than to relate to them. For in relating to them, we become them. And in becoming them, we recognize that on the most basic level of our lives, we are all human. We are all the same.

That is the deeper lesson that can be learned from Susan Boyle. Yes, the story is a feel-good one. It's a story that leaves us full with some sort of joy and contentment. But I don't think it's because we've all taken a bite of humble pie. For when the next contestant walks on stage who looks like Susan Boyle and sings horribly, we will only validate our initial derision, forgetting that Susan Boyle ever existed.

seeds.

We planted a garden a few weeks ago, Sus and I. It was one of those early spring days with a bit of summer flavour--flip flops and all. Perfect for an afternoon of planting. Neither of us have really tended a garden before, so this garden of ours is really an experiment in many ways. It's an experiment in tending nature. It's an experiment in discovering what can grow in our garden. It's an experiment in quantities, as we have no idea how many plants a bag of seeds will bring us--though it did take a little while before I realized that we had enough seeds for several feet of rows, not inches, as I had misread. And it's an experiment in patience.

Today we've begun to see the veggies of our labour. Little green shoots of carrots, onions and peas have emerged from their darkened slumber, breaking through the soil. Grasping their first breath of sunlight. It's a beautiful thing. I am quite amazed by this whole phenomenon called gardening. Three weeks ago the tiny seeds we delicately dropped into little holes in the soil seemed incapable of anything, let alone anything the size of a carrot. Yet, the beginnings of real vegetables are poking through. That vegetables actually grow from seeds only millimetres in diameter confounds me. I know there's a lesson here.

a year of waiting.

It's the beginning of February and I'm just now getting around to writing about last year. 2006 was a year of completion. 2007 of experiencing. 2008 was, if I were to put into one word: newness. I think. It's the first word that comes to mind, but it was chased into my head by another word: commitment. Newness is fitting though, what with a new job, a new wife, new home, new school ... new life. Instead of turning a page to a new chapter, it's almost like I finished the prequel and cracked open its sequel. And within this first chapter of newness is a deep awareness commitment. No longer can I get bored and move on--of these new experiences, I'm in it for the long haul. This is the first chapter of many, and I'm eager to see what happens. Which brings me to 2009. This time, I'm not going to look back in January 2010 to figure out what the previous year was all about. I already know what 2009 is. 2009 is a year of waiting. ...let me backtrack a few weeks.

New Year's Eve was spent on a little plot of land called Mayne Island, between the Mainland and Vancouver Island. A few folks from our Bible Study got together for a few days in order to ring in the New Year with a bit of a spiritual focus. Somewhere between reminiscing the year gone by and thinking about the year to come, 2008 slid into 2009. Champagne was opened, glasses were clinked, the Happy New Year song was sung. My wife and I kissed.

The Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says, 'Only in returning to me and waiting for me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.' But the Lord still waits for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for him to help them. [Isaiah 30:15,18]

January 1, 2009 began with those words and with a challenge: are we willing to actively wait for God? Even more so, are we willing to actively wait for [and within] His will? Patience is a lost virtue in our society. Perseverance, non-existent. And I've grown accustomed to pursuing the next best thing to come along. But with all the newness begun in 2008, it strikes me that each new circumstance carries with it a long-term commitment. We don't know exactly what we're waiting for, but waiting patiently is what Susan and I felt called to in this new year. In time I will be finished school, Susan will be ready to move on from her job, and we are open to whatever possibilities are open to us. And the hard part . . . the really hard part is ... waiting.

snowcouver?

It's raining in Vancouver. Hallelujah.

In years past, perhaps my number one complaint about living in 'Raincouver' is just that--the rain. Not this year. With the rain comes some sort of semblance to life once again. I walked on pavement today, perhaps for the first time in a month. Add to that joy, this: the buses are on time, the skytrain is back on its normal schedule, and I'm not pushing our car out of another snowdrift. [We'll not mention who exactly put the car in the drift in the first place]. But this oft-repeated predicament on the snow-covered side streets of Surrey raises a fundamental question in my Ontarian mind: why am I stuck in a snowdrift on a street...again? Back in Ontario, this was never a problem. It was a cycle as simple as this: 1) Snow 2) Plow 3) Repeat.

Vancouver, however, is not known for this white, fluffy precipitation. In a city not used to massive amounts of snow, little resources exist to deal with it when it piles up on city streets. Here, the cycle looks a little lacking: 1) Snow 2) Repeat.

As the snow continues to pile up on the streets of the city, nothing but the smooth summery tires of civilian transport exists to crush it into oblivion. Plows are few and far between here, something everyone east of Abbotsford must be aware of. Heck, in Ontario, my siblings and I even had pet names for each type of plow we'd watch pass our home. They were the A&W burgers of the street: there was Papa, with it's crew of double-bladed, highway-clearing Papa friends; Momma took to the main city streets, leaving a trail of salt in her wake; Sister took care of the side roads; and best of all, there was Baby. I remember hearing the constant drone of Baby as she tumbled up the sidewalks of Grimsby, leaving nothing but a clean patch of cement for the foot commuter. Alas, this family of snow-crushing machinery only exists in areas where...well...where there's snow. A lot of snow. The highways of the Lower Mainland are lucky to have Sister scrape over them.

It seems the snow was a short-lived (albeit month-long) adventure. It won't take long to get used to the rain. I heard my first complaint about it at work today: 'When's it ever going to stop?'

oh, Canada.

While I'm not generally one to get into politics I gotta say, Canada must have the most unique leaders in the world. Just a few weeks ago we had an election in which the Conservative Party, led by Stephen Harper, won a minority government. A week ago the losing parties, Liberal, NDP and Bloc Quebecois decided that Harper was doing such a horrible job when it came to the economy that he should be removed. So they grouped together and decided to take him out, politically speaking. Okay, so there's a heck of a lot more to it than that but it's a start.

I'll be honest. I was tempted to vote for the NDP this year, but got sick of hearing Jack talk about the kitchen table. Even if I could understand Mr. Dion, I wouldn't have voted for him. The Green Shift didn't sit too well with me. And since I didn't have a Marijuana Party in my riding and the only other option was the Communist and Green Parties, my vote went to the Conservatives. ...not that I would have voted for the Marijuana Party. I've noticed their permanent local headquarters are on East Hastings--likely a strategic move to take advantage of the countless homeless folk just up the street.

Am I happy with the Conservative Party? I suppose I am one of the few who reads CBC News online and does not have a complaint against Harper. This morning he managed to suspend Parliament in order to save his party from falling to the coalition party of Liberal, NDP and Bloc. Smart thinking? I think for now, yes. I still can't understand Dion, and Jack still rants about nothing but the kitchen table. The last thing Canada needs (besides this endless talk of economic doom and gloom) is a coalition led by Dion, a temporary leader, propped up by power-hungry Layton and Duceppe which, for all we know, will only bring further trouble to our economy and country.

Cartoon by Graeme MacKay

...and on...

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my place in the sphere of postmodern North American Christianity. I suppose this thinking comes from a foundational re-grounding of my faith by way of “settling.” It is difficult, at times, to accept the regularly scheduled week, regularly attending church and Bible Study and the acquisition of things. I fought against most of these elements of settled life for quite a while, and it is taking some time to get used to it all. The truth is, we’re here and we’re trying to make the most of it. I’m learning to live a regular life in our postmodern North American society, and it feels … okay. Lately it has even been feeling … good. And I think it’s because I have settled.

No longer am I simply doing what’s next, or what “feels right.” No longer a nomad, I have reason and time for introspection. My faith is being re-grounded, reshaped and solidified through an incapability to escape. I am no longer doing things to please God. Instead I am getting a better grasp of this God for whom I do things. We are receiving solid Biblical teaching, not from a pastor whose attempts to break down the traditional church mold trump the truth of the Gospel, but from a pastor who really speaks foundational truth. The Godly wisdom he imparts parches my thirst. I am challenged in my faith by others and as hard as it has been to take, I need it. In some ways it feels as though there has been some heavy duty chiseling happening. My cynicism towards the church has dwindled. I have read more from the emerging church movement and have begun to question it’s attitude and theology. They, too, have missed the mark, I think. Cynicism gives rise to pride. I am guilty of that, and am coming to grips with it.

My blogging has been slagging lately, partially because of busyness and partially because I find myself relaxing instead. At some point I hope to return to semi-regularly blogging, maybe when this semester is over.

i like mondays.

Mondays are for me, in some ways, just an extension of the weekend. No work. Just school -- at two in the afternoon. It makes for delightful mornings. Mornings such as this that began with a little Halo and coffee followed by the completion of this week's online English assignment in which I had to define such terms as irony, cliché and simile. I needed that reminder like a fish needs a bicycle.

perspectives

The other night we hung out with a couple friends for a late-night coffee and apple pie. We brought the coffee, ready-made in a carafe, and they supplied the coffee. It was swell. During the course of our conversation, I commented on the fact that I had to get up early in the morning in order to catch my bus to work. [Yeah, that's right, a bus. I have joined the throngs of transit commuters who daily cram themselves, like teenagers playing Sardines in daylight, into the tight quarters of a city bus and even tighter quarters of the Skytrain]. With Swift enjoying a shorter drive to Susan's work in the opposite direction, commuting has become my only option. It's really not so bad, except for the early morning rush to catch a city bus which, incidentally, will not wait for you, even if you're just meters away from catching up to it. It was this early morning start that I made a comment about. "It's even worse now that it's getting darker and darker in the morning," I said. To which came the response, "Actually, I kind of like getting up before the sun. It makes me feel like I'm starting the day right." I had to make it clear to him that, for me, getting up before the sun definitely means that I am starting off the day completely wrong. Perspectives.

Over a year ago, I wrote this article about my time spent in Northern Ontario for the online publication, Wrecked for the Ordinary. There were some initial comments to this article, one of which coming from one of the girls I regularly interacted with on the reserve. But over time, as new articles came in, mine was archived and put away, digitally. About a week ago it was found by another person, a parent, from the reserve who did not take kindly to what I had written about my experiences. They were offended. Very offended.

I received an email from Jeff Goins, the editor of Wrecked, who had made some initial responses to the criticisms offered by the parent, and he wanted to make sure I knew what was going on. I was shocked. My initial reaction was a mixture of fear (that I had written something offensive to which I should recant), anger (that I had been misunderstood) and concern (that this parent might share this article with another on the reserve and offer their interpretation of what was written).

Perspectives are interesting. While I can understand this parent's reaction, as one who's life and home have been written about, I am perplexed by their words. I re-read the article to figure out if I had been offensive, if I had insinuated that the children in Aroland are "pathetic" (perhaps the most distressing statement, to me), but have decided to stand by what I've written. I wrote about my experiences and feelings in Aroland and really, the whole point of the article was to bring awareness to a cultural group that in my opinion has been misunderstood, even by myself. By no means is my understanding of First Nations people a complete understanding but my experiences are valid, as is my perspective from these experiences, from which I wrote. While I still value the parent's perspective, my hope is that they would come to a clearer understanding of my intentions for writing.

i have a desk.

I have a desk. Or should I say, We have a desk. It has been quite some time since I have been in a place I can call my home, and that day has come complete with an office ... and a wife. Well, she didn't come with the place, nor did the place come with her. I moved into this basement suite on July 1 and was soon joined by Susan, officially on July 26th, 2008, the date of our wedding. No longer will I be aimlessly traveling the countryside. Short-term plan: school for me while Susan continues her job with a preschool in White Rock. Long-term plan: unknown. By the end of my schooling in 4-5 years I will have a teaching degree and, what with having our summers off and opportunity to travel within our profession, who knows where we'll be? We're committed to eachother, and we're committed to discovering the path God has for us.

Marriage is pretty sweet. We've been married for just over a week now and I'm still trying not to twiddle with the ring on my finger and I'm still getting used to not sleeping alone (while vainly attempting to remember that there is someone beside me when I flail my arms while in restless sleep)). I think one of the biggest learning curves in marriage is the idea of not being an individual, but a couple. I've learned much of the selfish nature of mine simply through our relationship, through my futile attempts to care more for another than for myself. The learning curve has been frustrating at times, and challenging all the time. Challenges aren't a bad thing, though. In our vows, Susan and I committed that we would "allow God to use [the other] to build His qualities in [us]. Part of that is understanding those things that drive the other person crazy and adjusting [my] set habits built during years of single life to satisfy the other. "It's not always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise that moves us along". Susan and I are still learning what it means to be in relationship, and I'm convinced that this could be a lifelong lesson. But it's a lesson we're committed to and as we keep to our vows, we can only trust that it's all a part of our growing in character and faith.

We have a desk. In an office. In a suite. In Surrey. A new chapter begins...

all apologies.

Today was a momentous day in the Canadian House of Commons as our Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, stood before a gathering of other politicians and, more importantly, a gathering of First Nations members, and apologized. An excerpt:

Mr. Speaker, I stand before you today to offer an apology to former students of Indian residential schools. The treatment of children in Indian residential schools is a sad chapter in our history.

In the 1870's, the federal government, partly in order to meet its obligation to educate aboriginal children, began to play a role in the development and administration of these schools.

Two primary objectives of the residential schools system were to remove and isolate children from the influence of their homes, families, traditions and cultures, and to assimilate them into the dominant culture.

These objectives were based on the assumption aboriginal cultures and spiritual beliefs were inferior and unequal.

Indeed, some sought, as it was infamously said, "to kill the Indian in the child."

Today, we recognize that this policy of assimilation was wrong, has caused great harm, and has no place in our country.

The aboriginal community in Canada has been seeking an apology for a long time, indicating that it will help to put the pain behind them. My hope and prayer is that this apology will be more than a political posture, but will truly bring closure for both sides so that reconciliation can continue.

counter-culture

I recently stumbled across a website for an online campaign, Make Affluence History. I'm not sure how long this campaign has been running and I have a sense that it doesn't have as strong a following or is as global as another, much-loved and popular campaign, Make Poverty History. Yeah, it's great to have a global campaign against poverty, but the convenient aspect of such campaign is that we can still support the cause from our homes and the comforts we refuse to leave behind. We can wear a wristband in the name of a good cause and pretend that we've done enough to solve the problem we think we're addressing. Oh, wristbands...

This campaign against affluence reminds me of #6 on the recently updated seven deadly sins. Gone are the sins of lust, greed, sloth, gluttony, envy, pride and wrath. Today's sins are meant to reflect modern society, though I tend to think that adding "polluting the environment" was more of a response to popularity trends than anything else; like what any politician would add to his (her?) platform in order to obtain votes. Though I doubt, with items such as "birth control" on the list, people are flocking to the Catholic Church for it's updated list of sins.

What I like about the Make Affluence History campaign is that the idea behind it (social awareness and real action) is so counter-cultural. I have for years attempted to write something here about counter-culturalism, but have yet to string my words together on this topic in any coherent manner. Though I like where I was headed in the following unpublished post, also titled "Counter-Culture", written last September:

I'm ready to buy into the system. The system I have fought against for so long has finally latched it's little hooks into my wandering mind, and taken hold. I want it. It is whatever it is you see as you sit in your living room. The TV, the couch, the bookshelf. It is whatever catches your eye as you roam around the office. The new computer, the steady income, the established position. The title. It.

This as I read a book entitled: The Jesus of Suburbia: Have We Tamed the Son of God to fit our lifestyle?

A couple of nights ago, I sat on the edge of a lake in Algonquin Park. It is one of the rare places in Ontario where you can sit still and literally listen to nothing, except for the odd tent zipper opening or closing and a distant loon call. ...or a fireside debate. At one point during the night, either through a need to discuss certain matters, or through a boldness brought on by a safe amount of alcohol, I asked the question to my fellow church-going camp-mates, 'What do you think of church?'

'It's over-rated,' came an immediate reply. Impressed by such a quick response, I asked why that was his first reaction. 'Because it's what you said last week,' he replied. Touché.

So what does any of this have to do with "the system", or "The Jesus of Suburbia", or Algonquin Park, for that matter? It all comes back to something that has long sat in the recesses of my mind, occasionally coming forth to remind me that there is something more to the faith I adhere to. It is one thing that brings hope and despair to the life of one who is required to live out their faith in the North American context. It is the understanding that, in his lifetime, Christ was counter- cultural. It's what made him so compelling to the masses, and so problematic to the church authorities of his day.

I'm not sure if I'm still ready to buy into "the system"...

[as I defined in another unpublished post from last February:

the system

We're surrounded by it everyday, so it's hard to notice. It's like the air we breathe. The ground we walk on. The route we travel to work. It's called 'the system'. And like all these things, it changes. Our air is less breathable. The ground transforms from dust to concrete. Our route is widened and more stop lights are added. The system confines, all in the names of 'freedom' and 'progress'. And we keep with the system because it's far better than any other system anywhere else in the world. Or so we think.

The system surrounds, infects, pervades all aspects of North American life as we know it today: cultural, financial, economical, religious, educational, our global perspective. And the system is run by one thing: money.

It doesn't change. And if it does, it does so incrementally, that the change is only recognizable when it's taken away for a period of time. Only when it's replaced, or when the routine is returned to do we see the change. And the potential harm it is.

It's the system.]

...but I'm still captivated by this idea of being counter-cultural. Last night I enjoyed a Starbucks Grande Caramel Macchiato with the leader of our small group, an older man recently retired from teaching. We got to talking about being counter-cultural, he and I. I told him a bit about our struggle in registering for wedding gifts, that we have a desire to register only for the things we need, but find it hard to justify the expenses of even these things. And since we do plan on living here for at least a couple of years, we recognize that the things we are registering for are needed. We love the idea of being Christ-like in a counter-cultural sense, but are caught between that and the reality of where we live. Ha. It begs the question, doesn't it?

Footnote: I'm actually quite disturbed by the fact that my intended mockery of the WWJD bracelet early in this post has bitten me in the ass. Quite disturbed.

the epitome of laze.

A couple of weeks ago, while catching up on some taped Lost episodes, we were interrupted by the requisite commercial break, including one about this refrigerator. Fridges have come a long way since the birth of freon. Not only do they come with ice-dispensers, but with TVs, internet, self-ordering functions, and yes, even door-ajar alarms. But this fridge has even beaten that idea with its self-closing function. That's right. The doors close on their own. It is, in my estimation, the epitome of laze. I'm the first to admit that I enjoy lazing around, so please note the hypocrisy in some of what I am about to say, though in my mind I make a distinction between sitting around doing nothing and allowing my fridge to close itself. It begs a fundamental question concerning needs vs. wants.

The idea of needs vs. wants mainly comes from recent experiences as Susan and I have been registering for wedding gifts. There are certain things we need. As we're pretty much starting out fresh, we need a kitchen table and we need dishes to eat off our table. We need a bed and we need blankets to keep us warm in that bed. We need living room furniture and we need snack bowls to eat from while we sit in that furniture. This may even go beyond what others may consider needs, but we genuinely think we need these things. The difficulty we've been having has been those other things that, well, we'd like to have but don't necessarily need. I'd like to think we would use a blender, but I'm also aware of the fact that the idea of having a blender is much nicer than the reality of using one. Do we need a 4-popper toaster? We can probably get by with a 2-popper, but we've registered with a company that only seems to carry 4-poppers. Do we need the expensive duvet and duvet cover? No, we could probably get by with an Ikea version of the same, but Ikea doesn't do gift registries. Do we need the $200 pair of kitchen chairs? No (see our Ikea quandry). How about the $200 coffee maker? ...wait, is that even a valid question? Of course we do! (note previous remark about hypocrisy).

Contentment in material possessions is difficult in our culture, isn't it? How do we balance out the things we need with the things we want? Or should there even be a balance? What does it mean when we read David's words in the oft-quoted verse, The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want? (Psalm 23). Does David have no want because God has given everything he ever wanted? Or is there no want because God is everything he needs? Easy for David to say, he probably didn't even like coffee. But if the latter were true, how does that fit into our North American culture where God so easily takes a sideline to our credit card? Where our wants and needs can be bought just around the corner, whether we can afford it or not?

When I was in Northern Uganada a couple of summers ago, we were encouraged to discover how God was challenging us in our lives. I left pondering the question, why do I need God? I'm not convinced the answer to that question will easily come while I remain saturated in our culture. Where every drive to Vancouver reminds me of the insurmountable wealth this city boasts. Where the average house costs a little less than $500,000, the highest average in Canada. And I'm convinced that the church here will never be able to answer that question, because it's too busy fighting. Or maybe that is the challenge: to discover a need for God in an individualistic, materialistic, increasingly lazy culture. I'd write more, but I left the fridge door open.

some things are worth committing to...

Spring has sprung in the West. I've counted 4 robins so far, seen daffodils rise from their hibernation, and felt the warmth of the sun on those oh-so-rare sunny days in BC. Change is in the air, I can feel it. This isn't going to be one of those foolish posts where I state I will do better in my blogging and then fail to do so. While I have accomplished most of the things on my to-do list, I've become more and more aware of the effect that routine has on one's time. The weeks pass quickly from one to the next. Here we are, mid-March already. Since writing about being complacent, I've discovered that maybe my complacency is more a result of being in routine of busyness than of being lazy. I always found something else to do instead of the things I had on my to-do list. And, I'll admit, I had a lot on my mind dealing with a topic of great fear and struggle: commitment.

There are some things in life that I have committed to out of obligation or temporary desire or need. I've committed to a job temporarily for the security that money brings. I was committed to a certain gas station for the two Air Miles I collected on each fill-up (until I discovered that they profit over $44 billion annually). I'm committed to Apple computers, despite the fact that my previous laptop died due to a defective part and this laptop is on its way out due to the same issue. Incidentally, I'm committed to making foolish, spur-of-the-moment purchases (ie. defective iBooks and snowboards...James?)

And then there is the commitment to end all commitments: marriage. It took a little while for me to get around to this one and it was, in fact, much harder than I expected. Not because I don't love Susan, not because I wasn't convinced that her and I could be together for the rest of our lives (heck, I tried convincing her of that for three years before she caught on), and not because, deep down I knew that part of my reasoning for returning to BC was for her. These things I know, but there was still that part of me that wrestled with the idea of giving up some of my individual freedoms to be with another for life.

We talked last night, Susan and I, about this whole 'love' thing. We both know that there will be times where our love for eachother will be more out of choice than of desire. We both know that love can be tough, that relationships can be a struggle. But the awesome thing about commitment is that we're sold on eachother. And we're committed to eachother, no matter what. I'd like to believe that I know exactly what I'm getting myself into, but I'm learning that life is about learning, about discovering, and yes, about relationships.

oh, complacency

I'm trying something new. It's been almost a month since my last post, which is quite distressing and disheartening. I'd like to say that I am uninspired, but I know that's really not true. I've just grown complacent. Lazy. My week has become one of routine. Up at 7:30, work from 8:30 until 5:00, go home or to Susan's, then go to bed. Throw in a Monday night Bible Study and a weekend of pure nothingness + one church service, et voila. C'est ma vie. Oh, complacency.

It's been a long time since I've had a steady 9-5 job, and I'd kind of forgotten what it feels like to be in a routine. But I'd like to say this wasn't intentional. The thing about slipping into a routine is just that -- it's something you slip into. My hill of complacency began with the new year, as I started at this steady job at a print company. Gone are the days of Santa Claus photography, of mornings off and the freedom to do whatever I felt like doing whether it be job-seeking, photography, dreaming, or video games, or nothing. So, down I slid, but gently, so as not to awaken my restless soul. I'd like to say I'm content, and I am, for the most part. But there's that restless side of me that wants to be let out, if it could only break past my accustomed laziness. Emails sit in my inbox, unreplied. Friends await phone calls, undialed. Uncles and youth deserve a visit, unaccomplished. Thoughts demand paper, unwritten.

The to-do list in my mind grows untouched, and I simply sense it's growth, unrestrained. And so, here's what I've decided to do. My lunch break generally consists of an hour sitting behind my computer, diddle-daddling on Facebook, on cbc, on eating my peanut butter and jam sandwich. My new idea, my intention, is to use it wisely, and productively. Perhaps a daily blog will come out of it (don't hold your breath, though). This could even be called an un-Lent. I'll start doing something, dang it. And maybe I'll get somewhere....